A Fateful Wind (14 page)

Jenna nodded, her mouth going dry. She pointed to the dishes in the tin sink. “I’ll be up shortly.”

Trystan smiled, patting her rear end softly as she made her way into the kitchen. “I always knew you’d make a fine wife.”

Fortunately, by the time Jenna climbed the steep stairs to the bedroom, Trystan lay sprawled out fully clothed across the bed, snoring as loudly as the night before. She tried to wake him, but it was no use. Using all her strength, she pushed the sleeping body over to the far side of the bed, moving each leg underneath the wool blanket. Changing into her cotton nightgown, she silently climbed in beside him, relieved that once again she remained intact.

Chapter Twenty

Trystan slid down the muddy pathway leading into the mine shaft. The heavy rains of the previous days rendered the normal pathway useless. The miners were forced to walk across the granite stones boarding the path, eventually sliding down a small muddy ravine to the mine entrance. An early autumnal chill replaced the once hot summer heat. Combined with the dampness, it sent aches through even the youngest of bones.

Trystan wrapped the woolen scarf closer around his neck as he hovered outside the mine entrance, knowing soon the scarf would be replaced by the shroud of sweat that always cloaked him in the humid, dark underground. Gradually, he descended with a group of men down the steep ladder into the depths of the dank, putrid underground mine. He was surrounded by a group of boys, none more than twelve, their small size a much needed necessity for reaching the bountiful harvest of tin that lay in the smallest crevices. He remembered being employed at such a young age and was pleased the mine boss gave him the responsibility of training and teaching the young recruits.

The rolling cart they all piled into came to a stop at the end of the rails in a deep, murky crevice. Trystan yanked a couple of candles from the front of the cart and sent each boy ahead into the particular labyrinth mine they would be working in. As he stood, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter his mother delivered to him at the mine that very morning. He ran his fingers over the scrawled writing and smiled. The words may have appeared jumbled to him, but he knew Jenna would read aloud the good news the letter contained.

Down below, he heard the voices of the young miners readying one cart to be moved up the rail to where Trystan stood.

“Good lads, come on, let's get moving.”

The heat inside the mine was oppressive. Sweat poured from the miners, drenching their clothes. The air, scarce and thick, could barely sustain even candlelight.

They pushed the loaded cart to where Trystan stood and began the long haul to the top of the mine shaft. The mines were a buzz with the sound of men working, hacking into the steep walls with pick axes, laughing and joking, sometimes breaking into occasional song in friendly camaraderie. The foremen were giving out orders, with much work to catch up on after being rained out the day before.

Trystan sighed. No doubt he would be forced to work a sixteen hour day to make up for the shortfall. But still, he needed the wages. If they could beat their quota this month, his promised bonus, although paltry, would be welcome.

Trystan lifted his scarf from his pocket and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. The sound of explosives being detonated deep inside the mine rang through his ears. The dust from the hammered rock clogged his nostrils, making breathing even more difficult in the thin underground air. He heard the coughing of the older miners, whose chests long ago succumbed to bronchitis caused by a life led underground.

“Right, this lot’s going to have to come up now. We can’t take anymore.” Trystan moved through the darkness to the ladder leading over one hundred feet to the opening. As he walked toward it, a loud clap rumbled through the mine shaft, shaking the ground beneath his feet and causing him to lose his balance. In the darkness he fumbled for his candle and matches, reaching for them with shaking hands.

Had an explosive gone awry? Fear gripped him at the prospect. Another intense roar reverberated through the mine, the screams of the men around him ringing in the darkness. Instinctively, he fell to the floor, covering his head with his hands, shouting to the young boys around him to do the same. He heard the frightened whimpers of the young boys as the opening of the shaft, over one hundred feet above their heads, caved in. Smatterings of rock, timber, boulders and the flailing bodies of men were sent plummeting to the bottom of the mine floor.

The avalanche continued for what seemed like hours. Trystan kept his head covered with his hands, praying aloud for the safety of himself and his men. Wild thoughts ran through his head of Jenna, of his brother, of his life in Cornwall. He felt his body pummeled by the falling debris until eventually an eerie stillness replaced the noise. No thoughts, no prayers, just the deathly ring of eternal silence.

* * * *

Lord Edwin banged his knife and fork down on the plate in anger. He hated being disturbed during lunch. “Who is it?”

“Your mine captain, my Lord. He says it is most urgent.”

Edwin sighed, wiping his mouth with his napkin and stalking off to where the mine captain stood, a worried look across his tear stained face. “Whatever is it?”

“There’s been a terrible accident at Penrose Mine, my lord. The shaft has collapsed, men are buried, people dead.”

“What do you mean a collapse? How is this possible?” Fear clouded Edwin's anger.

The mine captain shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “We do not know. An explosion combined with the floods of the storm. We do not know the extent of the damage or the lives lost.”

Edwin furrowed his brows as the severity of the accident hit him. Quickly, he rang for his stable hand and, grabbing his cloak, rushed to the door. He stopped when Emmeline stepped from her study, a questioning expression on her face. “There’s been a tragic accident at the mine. We need help.”

“Oh, dear God! I will send for the doctor and gather help from the village and our staff. You go on ahead. I will join you there with whatever supplies I can gather.”

Lady Emmeline rushed around the house, deploying her servants and her maids to go to the mines, their arms laden down with anything they could use as bandages and compresses.

“We will need buckets of water as well,” she ordered, sending one of her maids to locate the village doctor. Hastily, she walked toward her bedroom, where she knew Jenna was busy changing the bed sheets. She hesitated outside of the door, unsure how to tell a new bride her husband had been involved in a tragic accident.

Jenna gazed at her, eyes wide with a combination of fear and shock. Emmeline fought back the tears as she spoke the words.

“I must go.” Tears of anguish filled Jenna's eyes. “But my sisters, they must be sent for. They can help.”

“I’ve help being rounded up from all the surrounding villages,” Emmeline said calmly. “Your sisters will be told. Jenna, you must be strong and calm. There is no indication that Trystan is…” She trailed off unsure of her words.

“Dead?” Jenna's face crumpled. “There will be so many men dead. Oh, dear God."

Emmeline took her in her arms, rubbing her back in an effort to sooth her. “You must pull yourself together. We are all needed to help.”

* * * *

They left urgently for the scene of the accident. As they approached, Jenna noted the amount of villagers converging at the site of the accident, mules and shire horses being equipped with ropes to pull the heavy rubble out of the shaft in an effort to save the men crushed beneath. Several miners, the fortunate few who had been working at the entrance when the mine collapsed, were having bandages applied to their bleeding wounds their bodies shivering in shock.

Jenna ran toward the mine shaft, her gaze searching out a few of the battered bodies being lifted from the mine, searching in desperation for Trystan. She heard the cries of the miners’ wives, the piercing screams as one woman clutched the lifeless body of her young son.

She felt a hand grabbing her arm and turned to see Karenza standing there. “Oh, thank, God you’re here,” she cried, collapsing into her sister’s embrace. “Trystan…I can’t see him. I can’t find him!”

“Shush,” Karenza brushed back her hair. “He’ll be alright.”

They turned as the village doctor walked toward them, handing them each a tattered box of bandages. “You will need to compress the wounds of the men,” he ordered. “Be careful not to move them. God knows they could be suffering from broken necks and backs.”

Jenna wiped her eyes, summoning up the courage to walk over to where a few of the men lay screaming in agony. Holding one of the men’s hands in hers, she watched as he twisted in pain, his fingernails digging deep into her skin, his eyes rolling back into his head. He looked to be a middle aged man like her father. Silently, she closed her eyes and prayed Trystan would make it out safe and sound. She prayed lives would be spared thanked God her father was safe at home and prayed needless suffering could be avoided. The man's hand became very limp in hers and his screams were now replaced by a sorrowful whimpering. Someone handed her a bottle of whiskey, but her attempts at getting the man to drink some of the pain-alleviating liquid went in vain. As forcefully as the man cried out in pain, he lapsed into the cold stillness of death, his hand now stiff in hers.

“Don’t just sit there!” the doctor ordered. “Try and help bandage up some of these men.”

She stood up wearily, placing a cloth over the dead man’s torso, trying to block out the anxious screams that pierced the death filled air. The bodies of mangled corpses were being laid to one side of the mine, elderly mothers fretfully examining the faces in desperation, hoping with vain expectation their son’s lives had been spared. On the other side of the mine, the men who were still clinging on to life, their bodies battered, were being attended to by the surrounding villagers.

Jenna eyed the area where the dead lay. Was Trystan there? She shook her head. He had to be alive. He just had to. She made her way back to the group of suffering men, a pile of bandages and a whiskey bottle the only medicine made available to her.

It seemed like hours passed as she and her sisters busied themselves with their nursing activities. The shock of the suffering she felt in the beginning now strangely became familiar to her. She no longer felt nauseous at the sight of the blood and broken bones. Instead, a sense of urgency and duty filled her, as though each one of the men could be Trystan. Fortunately, a slow light rain began to fall, the scent of the freshness helping to rid the stench of death accumulating in the hot summer afternoon.

Jenna looked over to where Lady Emmeline knelt over a youth not older than fourteen. She watched the way the lady tenderly smoothed back the hair from his face as she began to apply a tincture to his mutilated leg. Lady Emmeline caught her looking and smiled back weakly at her, shaking her head with disbelief. Jenna once more scanned the bodies being laid out, listening for the sound of Trystan’s voice, but she heard nothing.

As Jenna moved on to her next patient, she felt a tap on her shoulder and, looking around, saw Tamzin standing next to her, her eyes filled with tears. Apprehension swept over her as the nauseous feeling once more returned.

“Trystan?” she mouthed to her sister, who nodded and pointed over to a man being carried out of the mine shaft. Tamzin took over attending Jenna’s patient as Jenna ran to where Trystan laid.

“Oh, thank God,” she cried as he gripped her hand in hers. “Thank God you’re still alive.” She bent over his face, her body now racked with sobs, the tears spilling onto his dirty, blood stained face. “Thank God. Thank God”

“Jenna…” His voice was barely audible as she felt him wince beneath her. Moving her hand over his body, she felt the sticky blood seeping through his clothes. She tried to move his trouser leg up to take a look at the wound, but the material was heavy and she knew moving it would cause the wound to worsen.

Trystan flinched in pain as he pointed to his pocket. Jenna reached inside, pulled out his pen-knife and slid the blade through the woolen cloth of the trouser leg, exposing the stomach churning wound that lay beneath. Horrified, she put her hand to her mouth, holding in the scream about to escape. His thigh had been ripped open, the wound exposing the muscle and bone.

“Is it bad, Jenna?”

She gulped and shook her head. “No,” she lied, moving the bottle of whiskey to his lips.

“I’m sorry.” Pain creased his face.

Jenna looked at him, puzzled. “What are you sorry for?” She ripped up some more bandages and soaking a cloth with water to clean the wound. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry for these past few days. I am sorry for not being a good husband to you since we married, for drinking so much and for taking you away from a man you truly loved.”

Jenna stopped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. I know everything, I saw everything. I knew you were unhappy with me, that you…” Trystan's voice trailed off as pain racked his body, causing him to grip Jenna’s hand firmly. “I knew you didn’t love me. I knew you didn’t want me, but I wanted you. God, how I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. And I carried on, pretending everything was fine between us, that I could make you fall in love with me over time, that you could learn to love me. But I was wrong. That is why I drank so much, because of the guilt I felt for being so selfish in my want of you. Oh, Jenna, can you ever forgive me?”

She brushed the tears away from her face. “I do love you, Trystan. I do. There is nothing to forgive. It is me who should be asking for forgiveness.”

He closed his eyes, wincing as she began once more to clean out the wound. “But I am not Sir Jack, and I never will be.”

“Now you listen to me, Trystan, and you listen hard. No, you may not be Sir Jack, but you’re my husband. You’re the man I’m with. I love you. You must believe me. You must promise me that you believe me.” Urgency filled her voice as she moved the water soaked cloth up to wipe his face. “You must promise me that and promise me when you’re better we will start all over again. Please!”